


Vulnerable

by Persephone_Van_Dyke



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Cleaning, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Miracle Day Spoilers, washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone_Van_Dyke/pseuds/Persephone_Van_Dyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I know I shouldn't like it when he's vulnerable. But I kind of do.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vulnerable

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Washing/Cleaning' in [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> Not my characters, not making any money from this

  
I know I shouldn't like it when he's vulnerable. But I kind of do.

The first night, that was the worst. I stopped crying long enough to get us a room and patch up the wound. He was barely conscious, and all I could think of to do was soak a cloth in cool water and wipe the sweat off his face. I didn't sleep at all - even after he'd fallen asleep again. Every time he moved, I jumped, had to recheck him, make sure he was still breathing.

The next day, I was too exhausted to even be scared, I just drove. I think we did a loop, over the first week, across states, backing on ourselves til we were driving north. Sometimes I'd put the radio on for company, because he was asleep most of the time, heard about the state of the economy as it crashed. On a good day, I could get painkillers.

We found somewhere to stop - a cabin to hole up in for a while, somewhere in one of the Dakotas. Don't ask me where exactly. Then we got into a new routine. He'd sleep, and I'd go out, early, before the working day started, and shop while it was quiet. By now he'd told me how to be inconspicious - talked me through getting out of a situation without looking panicked or giving anything away.

That was the first time I got him to smile, after he was shot - when he made me rehearse my story with him, and I lied my way right through his difficult questions about why I needed painkillers, without tripping up once.

'Make a con-artist of you yet,' he'd said. One of those unexplained comments he makes, that just leaves you guessing.

The evenings, those were best. He felt better then. I'd bring food and sit by his bed while we ate, and have the usual backchat about who was going short to feed the other one. I had to keep teasing him about not being invulnerable any more. 'Category Jack', that was what I'd called him. It's less funny when you can see that he's grey under the eyes, but it was the only way to make him eat properly and stop asking about whether I was getting enough food.

But the bit I secretly liked was the washing.

He'd asked me to get him some water so he could wash the first evening he was fully conscious. I hadn't really thought about it, but he said he felt horrible. So I'd found a basin and a cloth and some soap, and left him to it, and he'd done something stupid - tried to sit up too fast, or something - and started the bleeding again.

Afterwards, when I'd stopped freaking out, I found it a bit cute that he could yell 'Esther!' like I was a junior employee who was late fetching his coffee, even when he was haemorrhaging, and I walked in to see his eyes wide with horror, looking down at the wound.

'Enough,' I said, after I'd patched him up again. 'I'm going to wash you. No arguing.'

He _hated_ that at first. Weird thing, with guys, they either adore being nursed or they loathe it. I guess he'd never gotten used to it, being invincible and all. But he's a bit more relaxed about it now.

I'm better with guys who love it, because I love doing it. There's something about a handsome man who needs looking after that makes me go all smiley and ooey.

Anyway, after that, I washed him. Well, most of him - he still ordered me out of the room before taking his boxers off. I guess me stripping him would cross the line from vulnerable to humiliating. I didn't figure him for shy, but I guess if you have a blonde stripping you naked, you want it to be a bit more sexy, and less boringly practical.

But other than that, I did it.

Generally I started at his feet and worked up. You don't imagine big tough men having ticklish feet, but his were, so I rushed them, because laughing was still hurting him. You forget how much abdomenal muscles do until they stop doing it.

Then I'd work slowly over his legs. Usually, we'd be talking, because at first it felt awkward. When - unless you're a doctor or a lover - do you pay this much attention to another person's body? So we talked. I asked him about Cardiff - keeping off the subject of the people he'd lost there, but I wanted to know about what he'd faced, and how he'd done it. I wanted to know how Torchwood worked.

What I really wanted was to learn how to work like he and Rex do - how to go undercover, how to think round these impossible puzzles. And if I could fire a gun like Gwen can, that would be nice too.

So I'd ask questions and get him talking, and at this point I'm above his knees, and we skip straight over the awkward zone and I start again just below the wound, very very gently. It still hurts him, and once or twice he's snapped at me when I've been careless. More often, though, it's a tiny gasp that tells me I'm hurting, and his hands clenching on the sheets. That's worse.

Washing round the wound - because I clean that when I dress it, with sterile stuff and antibacterial spray, when I can get them - and over his abs, it's easier - we've avoided the scariest bit. Now he relaxes again, starts to answer my questions. Mostly I'll listen, and only occasionally I zone out, an insistent little fantasy playing in my brain of how this would feel without the damp cloth, and the basin of water balanced against his hip. He has really nice abs, smooth and defined, and I'll take my time, as if I'm distracted by what he's saying.

I'm almost sure he doesn't notice anything.

He keeps talking, his tone neutral, while I wash his chest, skimping his nipples very slightly because now we're back in erogenous territory and I know this has to stay practical between us. It will only make things awkward if it doesn't.

Then I do his arms, which are neutral. Or would be, but I have this thing about muscular arms, so they're not, very. But he seems completely unconcerned, stretching out for me, not at all like he's trying to show off his toned biceps. Or that weird leather bracelet he never takes off.

I rub over his shoulders, and now we're nearly eye to eye, he'll let his gaze drift off, up into the dark corners of the ceiling, so he's not staring straight at me while I'm so close to him. Which is good because I don't think I could handle it if he stared straight into my eyes - I'd just blush and pause, and then he'd know for sure that I'm secretly enjoying myself.

Then, and this is the tricky bit, we do his back. Hitching him forward so he can sit up, even though I know he's trying hard not to lean too heavily on me, is difficult. Eventually, once he's sitting up, I edge behind him, and perch on the pillows, so I can sort of prop him up.

Washing his back is definitely the nicest. It's relaxing, and while it's intimate we can't see each other's faces, so it can go on for quite a while without becoming weird. Again, I start with the part near the exit wound, get that over with, then work up. Smoothing the cloth up his spine, over the slight inward dip either side of his waist, and up across his ribs, I fall into a pattern, taking my time, enjoying the visual - he has a very nice back, and I like the shape of his shoulders, the way the muscles curve under his skin. And he smells amazing - not just the freshness of being clean, but like the aftershave your first boyfriend wore in college, that still makes you get a little fluttery and wet when you smell it now.

And he seems to like this bit too, arching his head back slightly, flexing his shoulders - he says it's relaxing. Sometimes, he'll give a soft little gasp which I'm pretty sure is pleasure.

Some days, I only just stop myself drifting thoughtlessly close and kissing his neck, or his shoulder, or just laying my face against his hair and breathing him in.

It's a wrench when I finally finish, and I have to pat him on the shoudler, and say 'All done,' brightly, like a nurse, and move round to pull his arm over my shoulder so I can lay him back down.

After that, I kiss him on the forehead when I'm saying goodnight. I'm waiting for the day when he's well enough to kiss me back - maybe pull me close. Not to have actual sex, because that would be stupid, with a wound like that, and dangerous - but I'd love to lie very close and kiss his mouth, and touch him gently all over, and maybe have him touch me.

It probably won't happen. I'm probably just making up stories for myself. But a gal can dream, right?

END  



End file.
